A Night Out
by Valasania the Pale
Summary: Everyone knows how fun it can be to just go out for a night clubbing with some friends - here is a story where Hermione Granger goes out with some friends and runs into an old acquaintance she doesn't realize has suddenly become infinitely more interesting to her. Fem!Harry incarnation, as I typically do


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I'm simply inspired by it.**

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Tonight was for their enjoyment; for getting drunk and having a good time, for listening to some good music, dancing, and forgetting about the consequences tomorrow morning.

It sounded too good to be true at best for Hermione's normally highly rationally thinking mind to condone, and a recipe for disaster at worst, but she had agreed to let her friends drag her out for a night on the town in exchange for letting her introduce them to the joys of muggle culture.

A day binge watching movie classics followed by hair salon and spa treatments, in other words. She wasn't so ignorant of her friend's inclinations to expect them to tolerate being forced into attending a lecture or poetry reading as she'd taken to in recent years.

"Come on 'Mione!" Susan cheered as they followed Tracey and Padma down the sidewalk, dusk casting light shadows over the area, illuminating the concrete jungle of muggle London with hues of faded gold, amber, and plum greys. "We're supposed to be having fun, don't think too much about it!"

"Think about it some," Padma chipped in, solemn dark eyes – liable to captivate many an inebriated patron tonight – light-heartedly amused, "Or we'll miss our turn. What's the name of the club?"

"'Olympia' or something like it. Supposed to be great for karaoke, with a massive dance floor to accompany," Susan replied, all smiles, irrepressible as Hermione had always known the Hufflepuff alumni.

"Think that's it? Can't imagine anywhere else would have Bacchus dancing like an American nutter," Tracey muttered the last part under her breath, obviously referring to the toga-d, cherubic man traced in neon blaring into the late twilight. The caricature of the Greek god had been worked to show him – obviously drunk and having a good time – dancing what Hermione could identify with some amusement as a position from the disco age, pointer finger raised unashamedly above his head, hips cocked to the side.

"Olympia Karaoke, that's it," Susan agreed, grabbing Hermione's hand to run ahead, the brunette following her with a half-smothered giggle. Susan had to work to balance out Hermione's obsessive studiousness, Tracey's sarcasm, and Padma's solemn demeanor, but nobody could say it was a losing battle, or that she hadn't embraced her lot with enthusiasm. The other two girls trotted after them with light smiles, letting Hermione know as she glanced back that they were just as excited, if not as expressive, as their red-headed friend.

They didn't get to have nights out on the town often; life after Hogwarts had accelerated at a rate that left them breathless. They'd had to find work, move into their own apartments, attend weddings for friends, attend to buying their own food, and then, when the day was done and they weren't ready to drop into bed, it was rare that any more than two of them at a time could get together. Tonight was a rare treat, to be enjoyed with gusto.

They were greeted at the door with the sound of booming bass and drums, the smell of sweat and alcohol, perfume and cologne hitting them like a tidal wave, while perspiration and smoke formed a miasma that obscured the view of some of the back areas of the club. The singer at the stage – a man who'd clearly had experience working a crowd, for the way his hips were rolling with the music and his voice rang out in a rich baritone as he got close to the wildly cheering audience – was hardly more than a blur of color in the darkened light, but they weren't ready to get into singing and dancing yet.

Fun or not, they were most of them academics and quiet; there would be alcohol before they'd let Susan whisk them away into her enthusiasm.

Hermione started with something light; she didn't remember the name of the drink, but it burned with a pleasing fire down her throat, filling her stomach with warmth while she aimlessly focused on the music and chatter. Tracey and Padma were arguing about something or other – they were always debating each other on any number of subjects ranging from modern Celtic magical communities and their relationship to the ministry of Britain down to the more mundane, such as whether coffee was a better drink than tea.

She was a coffee person, herself, but long experience had taught her that interjecting herself into one of their arguments inevitably led to headaches and temper tantrums.

Susan had already downed two shots of whiskey and joined the throng on the dance floor. The red head – deemed voluptuous by virtually anybody who'd seen her since her fourth year at Hogwarts – was already making herself a hit, her energy easily palpable among the crowd of raucous dancers.

Of course, her outfit might have had something to do with that. While already confident in herself by all measures, Susan hadn't elected to wear anything too revealing ("slutty," Tracey would sarcastically quip when she saw some of the more risqué elements of Susan's wardrobe), but the top did reveal an alluring amount of skin below the throat without totally laying her sizable bust bare to the viewing world. Her skirt, black and about two inches shorter than propriety would normally allow for, swished up and down as her hips rocked back and forth with the beat, while her arms – raised high above her head along with many others as they beat the air – brought her chest into high definition.

Yes, Susan had many admirers. There was a sparkle in her eye that declared to the world, 'I'm having a fucking good time tonight'

Padma and Tracey had elected to choose different styles, with Padma's skinny jeans leaving little of her long legs to the imagination, while her blouse was tight enough not to dip down and cover the firm curve of her ass, but also loose enough to keep viewers hungering for details about any more of the lithe Indian. She was grace and smoky allure, ready to smite blundering admirers with a finely-honed wit sooner than they realized they'd been shot down.

Tracey wore a loose fitting black dress, reaching down just above her knees with a scooped back and no sleeves. The front covered her throat but left her shoulders bare, contrasting her shockingly pale skin and auburn hair with the obsidian weave of the clothing (acromantula silk, while ruinously expensive for any but the nobility in wizarding Britain, was so ludicrously soft that clothing made from its weave was immensely pleasing to wear, but also produced such pure, rich colors that when shown next to mundane muggle clothing it fair glowed).

Combined with the flats and her prior knowledge of her friend's risky, dynamic dancing, she expected Tracey would spend the night looking for a partner that could keep up with her.

Hermione hadn't held back either; her hair was held back in a smooth ponytail, showing only a little bit of the normal waviness past the tie. She'd decided to forgo the elaborate hairdos she employed on special occasions to impress whatever date she'd occasionally deigned to entertain in favor of simple practicality. Like Padma, she wore a blouse and jeans, liking the ease of movement and the feeling of bold sensuality they provided her. She felt every inch the sexy scholar her friends had painstakingly convinced her she epitomized.

Knocking back a shot of the whiskey Susan had recommended – the first had burned terribly, far stronger than the earlier drink she'd had, but the second was smooth as fine wine and tasted of pleasant herbs and peat – and with her head buzzing lightly with the alcohol, she twisted away from the bar and made for the dance floor, grinning happily at the cat-calls Padma and Tracey hailed her with.

Susan was closer to the stage now, dancing with two other people who had her bouncing back and forth in elaborate twirls and steps, as Hermione made her way through the chattering crowd. A new singer was waving at the DJ as she made for the microphone. Hermione saw she had a cropped top on, revealing a swathe of smooth, pale tummy that glowed like alabaster in in the bright lights.

Her raven black hair was cut at the shoulders, hanging in stylish spikes, and as she grinned and hailed the audience Hermione marked that she was shockingly familiar, though she didn't know how she could have recognized her, given she hadn't lived in the muggle world for any amount of time since she was eleven years old.

"Hermione!" Susan's voice rang out, seconds before music started blasting out of speakers and the singer started rocking in the timeless motions of the performer.

She looked at her friend, the red head already flushed, forehead shiny with a thin layer of sweat that had dampened a few hairs. The look made the Hufflepuff seem alive, and Hermione felt that she had never seemed more beautiful before now, even elaborately and elegantly attired for the yearly balls and Wizengamot meetings she attended.

"That's _Jasmine!_ I knew she came here – she recommended the place, after all – but I didn't expect to see her here tonight!"

Hermione didn't bother restraining her double take, her eyes drawn to the singer – to _Jasmine_ , as she now could undoubtedly identify – whose voice was raised in the rhythm of whatever song she'd chosen to lead with, nearly unable to believe her eyes.

Hermione and Jasmine had been incredibly close friends in the first four years of Hogwarts. Unforgettable memories had bound the two together in a bond Hermione had never experienced before – that of best friends.

There were problems that grew, though, as they got older. Jasmine's self-confidence issues, so easy to ignore when they had all been meek little first years, grated on Hermione more and more as the years went on and the raven-haired girl had steadfastly refused to believe that she'd any desirable or positive traits. Her class performance and desire to excel were average, but Hermione could see from the outset that if her friend applied herself – if she could light any amount of ambition – she would be truly gifted.

But the ravenette could never summon the strength to believe in herself, and that had opened a widening rift between the two Ravenclaws until finally, in their fourth year, they simply broke off all contact save what was required by classes.

By then, Hermione had found companionship in three other students who she'd met a year before in their first Arithmancy and Ancient Runes classes. Driven by various factors (Susan's aunt occupied one of the most rigorous positions in government, Tracey had to constantly battle her family's disdain for her blood, while Padma struggled to shake the shadow of her popular twin sister), the four had become a solid group of friends for the remainder of their Hogwarts years, while slowly Hermione had shaken the remainder of guilt over leaving her first real friend off and forgotten about it.

In fact, she hadn't paid attention to anything to do with Jasmine Potter for years now. She knew the girl – woman now, really – was slated to be the Lady of house Potter and House Black, and she had certainly heard about Susan's interactions with her as they inevitably crossed paths in the political climate of the Wizengamot, but other than that she knew nothing else about her.

And nothing had prepared her to believe that the shy, unconfident waif of a girl that had disappointed and frustrated her hopes for true companionship years before would ever have the nerve or desire to stand before a crowd of ravening partygoers, hips swinging with abandon as she lost herself to the beat, face already lit up with an inner spark of enjoyment and voice cutting clear and steady through the cacophony of cheers and chatter.

"I didn't expect her either," admitted Hermione, wishing she had another shot of whiskey in hand to dull the shock she felt now.

"She's doing great though; I could dance to this all night!" Susan cheered, grabbing Hermione's hand as Jasmine finished a chorus and lit into a complicated series of lyrics, raising her voice into realms Hermione hadn't even known the human voice could go to.

The red-head led her to an open space – just a small one, the crowd didn't allow for more than that, so they were pressed rather scandalously together even still – and, taking her other hand, she started jerking her arms around in mock imitation of the wild but calculated movements she'd displayed earlier. "Come on Hermione, dance with me!"

Laughing, she acceded, letting Susan lead her in an uncomplicated but fun series of movements that had her twisting and thrusting and twirling until she was breathless and flushed, lost to the music.

Padma and Tracey had joined the throng at some point. Tracey was entertaining a doe-eyed boy – probably his first night out clubbing, if the innocent expression and breathlessly enamored look he gave the saucy Slytherin-alumni – while Padma was nowhere to be seen. Hermione personally doubted the Ravenclaw would emulate Tracey unless she found someone truly able to keep up with her wit – she was picky like that – but then the Indian girl was coming up to Susan and her with two medium glasses in hand, filled with a dark liquid that Hermione took a large gulp from nonetheless, suddenly incredibly parched from the exertion.

"Hey you guys, didn't expect to see you here!"

The three turned to see that Jasmine was walking towards them, wiping sweat from her brow as her teeth flashed from the pleased smile she wore. Hermione dimly realized that she hadn't noticed her stop singing, and that up close, the woman was absurdly pretty, if not breath-takingly beautiful.

Even in her youth, Hermione had noted that Jasmine's emerald-green eyes, so accurate a description, for how they glittered like gems when the ravenette was amused by something, were probably her most alluring trait. Now, set in an unblemished face and accompanied by fully developed, refined features, that were resplendent like a jeweler's masterwork among a field of fine silk. While Jasmine was very pale, like Tracey and numerous other noble houses (it seemed to be a common trait among many of them, unsurprising to Hermione considering most of them were related in some way or another), now her skin fairly glowed with health as opposed to the almost sickly pallor that had made her ex-friend seem so waifish before.

The Jasmine Hermione had known also wouldn't have dared to wear such revealing attire, the crop top being slightly damp with sweat in places, while her jeans accentuated her athletic legs deliciously.

She realized perhaps a little later than she should have that she was staring dumbly at the woman, who was eyeing her appreciatively as well, although the look was tempered with a surprising amount of contrition, well veiled to Hermione's slightly inebriated (well, probably _very_ inebriated at this point) eyes.

"It's been a while, Hermione," she said politely, before fixing Susan with a delighted smile. "I see you took my recommendation; welcome to Olympia Karaoke!"

Susan made an excited wiggle that made Hermione relax a little and smile. "This place is great! You sang so well just a minute ago, too."

Jasmine blushed faintly pink, obviously pleased by the praise. "I do my best, though there are better singers here than me." She said, deflecting.

"Well I haven't seen them yet!" Susan was obviously having none of it, taking a sip of her drink, before glancing around at the amorous eyes all around her.

At that moment, the next song had started and Susan's eyes immediately went wide in pleasure. "This is my song!" she shouted above the rising noted, squeezing Hermione's shoulder as she handed Jasmine her drink. "You two mingle, I'm dancing!"

Hermione gulped through a suddenly dry throat, and took a long sip from her drink, embracing the increased buzz the alcohol granted her. Suddenly talking to the friend she'd ditched years earlier didn't seem so daunting.

Jasmine eyed her appreciatively. "Didn't ever expect Hermione Granger to be at a club drinking and dancing – you all out for a night on the town or something?"

She nodded, "Yep, deal was that I'd treat them to some muggle comforts – spa and movies – and they'd drag me out to some irresponsible club to get drunk and do things I'd regret the next morning."

The ravenette giggle, her eyes sparkling. "That sounds like Susan, although I don't know Tracey or Padma well enough to see much of their hands in it. You want to do some dancing?"

Hermione knew Jasmine was well aware of how uncomfortable she was with talking with her. Their separation hadn't been clean or sudden; the tears and shouting matches had been more than enough to make it clear that their friendship wasn't simply going to reignite easily. Dancing was an easy compromise on their problems, and wouldn't spoil her fun time tonight.

One dance with her ex-best friend. Her gorgeous, confident, energetic ex-best friend.

Hermione finished her drink with a flourish, downing the burning liquid with abandon as she took Jasmine's hand and let the night become a blur of sweat, dancing and abandon.

X_0_X

The next morning bloomed clear and crisp, the dawn clearing away the cobweb of shadows the night had cloaked Hermione's apartment with. The windows, left open to allow a fresh breeze in the morning, let sunbeams invade the brunette's room, normally a welcome wakeup call to her busy day.

Now they just made her head _hurt._

Hermione woke to a pounding headache, groaning as the steady throb of her heartbeat pounded an unwelcome drumbeat into her skull. She immediately resolved to never listen to Susan, Padma or Tracey ever again. Clubbing was a terrible decision.

After becoming aware of her hangover, Hermione also became aware of a curious and antithetical feeling to this rhythm of suffering in her head; the rest of her felt most curiously satisfied. Absurdly satisfied, if she didn't put too fine a point on it.

Then, as she shifted to grab her wand to perform the hangover-recovery charm (and wasn't _that_ a damned nifty charm, if she didn't say so herself), she became aware of a foreign weight on her chest, as well as the absence of any of her clothes.

Feeling a weight drop into her stomach, Hermione glanced down at her chest and stared, enchanted at the pale, beautiful face that languished on her breast.

It didn't take her any time at all to recognize Jasmine's countenance, relaxed in the way that only sleep can allow for, her breaths coming in soft puffs, eyelids appearing impossibly dainty and soft, but also making Hermione desperately wish they would open to reveal the emerald gemstones that would make her heart beat just a little faster for her entrancement.

Not wanting to disturb her visitor, she wandlessly summoned her wand to her – a trick she'd taken years to learn properly – and performed the charm, letting out an audible sigh of utter pleasure as the pounding in her head was eased by the charm (once, people had used potions for such purposes, but as hangovers were really just the body reacting to an absence of water and an increase in alcohol, some genius had decided to modify the water-conjuring spell to cure hangovers, and was promptly awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class for humanitarian services).

Hermione wasn't shocked that it was a girl she'd woken up to in her bed – that was something she'd explored years ago, and no longer disturbed her like her upbringing once had led her to feel. That the girl was Jasmine made things more complicated, and also made a lot of sense.

Seeing her ex-best friend had been a total shock the brunette's system, but through the haze the alcohol had left over her memories of the night before, Hermione could see that she'd been instantly smitten by the new Jasmine.

Beauty was one thing, but Jasmine had the light of confidence now that Hermione had always wanted to bring out in her before their split – the light that would make her truly a force to be reckoned with and a joy to interact with. Dancing had broken the ice between them; allowed them to wordlessly move past their prior baggage and simply let the night do what it would with them.

So of course, heads mired by too many drinks and dance-inspired carnal passion, they'd soon been moving closer together, enjoying the heat and proximity, until finally Padma had grabbed the four of them – Susan and Tracey hadn't elected to bring anyone home with them, although Tracey had sported a wicked gleam in her eye that either boded very poorly for the poor first-timer, or very, _very_ well for him – and drove them home from the car they'd left in a parking lot a few blocks away as the one person who hadn't consumed an appreciable amount of alcohol.

What followed were several blurry memories of such carnal lust that deep in Hermione's belly, a warm tingling began to reignite as she become intimately aware of the nude body wrapped tightly around her own.

She watched Jasmine for a little while, content to let the fire simmer to an appreciable heat; if she were lucky – luckier – Jasmine would be happy to go for another round when she woke up. In the meantime, Hermione took the time to examine the woman's face in fine detail, taking in every feature with alacrity.

When she was younger, Jasmine had been small, thin, boney and short. She still was short, compared to most of the magicals Hermione knew (who, while diverse as muggles in terms of physical traits, averaged greater heights than most their mundane counterparts), but she was no longer inhibited by the collapsed carriage she'd once suffered from.

A lack of posture was just one symptom of the problem that was Jasmine's total lack of self-confidence. Hermione had thought that it was almost certainly the result of an emotionally abusive home situation – one reason she'd avoided Jasmine for so long was the guilt over breaking their relationship when the girl might have simply needed constant support – but the result had crippled her opinion of the girl, who could never keep up with Hermione's intrinsic desire to excel.

The boniness and general lack of wholesome appearance – her sickliness had led Madame Pomfrey to fuss over her often when they crossed paths – had obviously not been retained through time. The girl fair shone with health and inner grace. Hermione wondered what had changed her so dramatically – even from what little she'd seen (personality-wise, there was little she'd not seen of her physically), there was little to none of the old Jasmine.

The ravenette suddenly stirred, eyelids fluttering open, and Hermione's heart skipped a beat as those green eyes peered at her through half lidded eyes once more.

Vivid memories of those eyes never breaking her gaze as her mouth did devilish things to her naughty bits made Hemione blush scarlet – Jasmine had an intensity about her in this kind of mood that just oozed sex appeal. The simmering heat in her abdomen flared into a rolling boil, and the brunette felt the area between her legs instantly start to moisten.

No words were exchanged as they stared at each other, but Hermione became suddenly aware of Jasmine's hand, with its long, dexterous fingers, moving up the inside of her leg, rubbing her inner thighs in such an intimate and confident manner that Hermione wanted to clamp those thighs together and not let go until Jasmine had her thrashing below her.

"Good morning," the ravenette said quietly, stroking Hermione's netherlips with a featherlight touch, making her shudder.

"G-good m-morni – ah!" Hermione gasped as Jasmine slipped two fingers inside of her, stirring her insides as casually as she would her morning porridge.

The ravenette moved with alacrity, slipping under the sheets to put herself face-to-face with the juncture of Hermione's thighs, working on prying open her clam to plumb her depths in search of the brunette's treasured orgasm. Hermione moaned and mewled under Jasmine's ministrations, letting her play her body like a fine violin.

Her hips rolled at Jasmine's command, her screams and whimpers came at the singer's beck and call, and when her lips embraced Hermione's hypersensitive clit, a whispered order sent Hermione over the edge as she clamped her legs around the ravenette's head in one of the most powerful orgasms she'd ever experienced.

When Jasmine had finished playing with her – she hadn't stopped stirring her for several minutes, watching with fascination as Hermione's hips and legs twitched at her slightest touch while the brunette purred with contentment – she lithely wrapped herself back around her, resting her head-on Hermione's pale chest, tiny breaths tickling her skin.

They lay like that for a long while, until finally Hermione, still experiencing a pleasant afterglow, and fully intending to reciprocate once she'd had an answer to her question, lifted her head to meet Jasmine's entrancing green orbs once more.

Unable to restrain herself, she asked, "When did you get so confident?"

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 **Well, I have to say that I'm sorry I haven't continued any of my previous stories or really written anything at all lately. Haven't had much inspiration to write any smut lately, though this one kind of came at me out of the blue.**

 **This was me attempting to interrogate the relationship between Hemione Granger and Jasmine (Harry, in female form, of course) in a different way, with as little dialogue between them as possible. Let me know how I did, I don't often do characterization pieces like this and I would love the feedback.**

 **I'd also like to say that this was inspired by both a fanfic I started yesterday called The Long Game by inwardtransience - a story written by an author so obviously beyond my linguistic capabilities I cannot begin to express it, seriously recommend their work - and the Nightcore version of Selena Gomez's song Confident.**

 **Farewell dear readers, and I hope you enjoyed reading.**

 **-Valasania the Pale**


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